


Wake Up Alone

by DaisyFloyd



Series: Pink Floyd Collection [6]
Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: 1970s, Alcohol, Bisexuality, Friends With Benefits, Heartbreak, Homosexuality, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, Love, M/M, Roger's sad as always, Sad, Short One Shot, Unrequited Love, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25278103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFloyd/pseuds/DaisyFloyd
Summary: Roger wakes up alone.With a glass to accompany his poignant thoughts, he writes.
Relationships: David Gilmour/Roger Waters
Series: Pink Floyd Collection [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1283780
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Wake Up Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thanks for checking out my story.
> 
> Before reading, please note that:
> 
> \- I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone mentioned in this story.  
> \- This work is entirely fictional.  
> \- This work does not accurately represent the real relationships of the people mentioned.  
> \- English is not my first language.  
> \- I've written this with much love.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Roger puts down the glass, and the sound of the material hitting the table is sharp and strong. He doesn’t care enough to be gentle with it. In fact, maybe he could find solace in breaking it and having to clean it up. Perhaps that would distract him more effectively than drowning himself in alcohol, swallowing as much as humanly possible, asking himself why he hasn’t passed out yet. Cursing his body for not giving in and allowing his mind to make him restless.

He holds the pencil and moves it around anxiously, until he brings it to his mouth and presses it between his teeth. After a moment, he decides he doesn’t find chewing it assuaging. He looks at the scuffed wood, and it reminds him of his own body being marked by the man he blindly desires. He touches his neck, and finds a spot that is rather sore. Even though he’s generally gentle, he can get carried away sometimes. Roger doesn’t mind, in fact, he enjoys it just as much. But it hurts, though not nearly as much as his soul suffers.

_I’m tired, I’m too tired for this._

He writes, but he doesn’t feel inspired. He’s exhausted. Although he’d much rather go back to sleep to escape from all this, he can’t. When he feels the need to write, he’s antsy until he does it. He can’t put it out of his mind until he’s got a few lines down. It doesn’t need to be a song or a poem. He has to write something, _anything_ , to satisfy this need he has no control over.

His mind wanders back to the previous night.

_It feels like love._

He writes with difficulty, his pulse trembles. The image of David taking his clothes off with teasing slowness under the pale light overwhelms him. He presses the spot in his neck to convince himself that he’s not as exposed, as vulnerable as he feels. He doesn’t succeed.

He feels everything again. The warmth of his body, his hardened fingertips tracing over his skin. His perfect lips leaving kisses on his neck and then coming back to devour his mouth. He hears his voice, husky and sensual, whispering sweet sin. He remembers surrounding his hips with his long legs, wordlessly begging him to stay, not to go away, to make him his. And he remembers the way in which he does it. He holds back to make sure Roger can enjoy every second of it, take pleasure in every sensation, but once he can’t anymore, he lets go. Roger feels he touches heaven with the tips of his fingers.

He consumes him like a fire envelops a forest, viciously slowly at first, yet candidly and dangerously. It gets more intense with each second, and it never fails to leave him breathless.

_It does feel like love._

He doesn’t want to be reminded of him, but it’s one of those things that he can’t avoid. As the sun rises every day, as birds migrate to warmer places during winter, as every person who lives and dies is eventually forgotten. It’s an undeniable truth, a fact of life, a universal law. And he hates that it is this way.

David takes him, and the next day he’s gone. It’s always been like this. It’ll always be like this.

_If it feels like love for me, why doesn’t it for you?_

Roger’s glass is almost empty. He’s too lazy to fill it and just looks at the bottle, as if he could read the answer to his question in its surface. The only thing he sees is his own distorted reflection, which makes more sense than it should. He doesn’t feel right, and that image seems to represent this emotion with uncanny accuracy.

_I believe there’s something sincere about it._

There has to be some truth to it, to the things David says when they’re between the sheets. Even though he’s able to act as if nothing unusual is happening when they’re in the studio or hanging out with the band, Roger can’t accept that this is unrequited. Faking such burning passion must be impossible, David’s way of making love to him can’t be the way he does it to other people. Something about it all has to be real. In Roger’s part, everything’s genuine.

_There’s simply no way that there isn’t. It must mean something to you, too._

Roger can’t accept being his friend, he can’t help hoping that someday David will feel the way he does. Just thinking about how this facet of their friendship came to be makes him smile. Getting out of that initial mutual hate had been a long process, but once they became acquainted and realised they worked well together, it gradually escalated from there.

David was the one to make the move, and at first, Roger wasn’t sure about how to respond. Then he got lost in his eyes, in his silly sense of humour, in the way he speaks, in the way he plays. That first time had to be the most remarkable experience Roger has ever had. He’d gone into it without knowing what to expect, but now that he knew how David was like in terms of intimacy, he couldn’t get enough.

He felt loved. He felt valued, respected, desired. He’d never felt that way before, with anybody. Roger began to understand why people often draw a line between having sex and _making love_ , because he was sure the times they slept together couldn’t be described as a mere encounters.

There’s passion, there’s a yearning in those lustful kisses, in his touch. And Roger gives him his everything, makes sure he feels as delighted as he does, and the lovely sounds David makes confirm that he’s enjoying it too. But Roger doesn’t know if he does as much as him, if he loves it in this almost spiritual level.

_At least I wish it does mean something to you._

However, that initial stage is over. Back then, he had David all to himself. Now, there’s someone else.

She’s trying to get him, and she’s succeeding.

_I’m yours, but you aren’t mine._

Every time Roger sees her, he gets this gut-wrenching feeling. Whenever she holds David by his arm and presses it between her breasts, giggling with faked innocence, Roger seethes. Whenever she acts friendly with the rest of the band, and captivates them with her bubbly personality, Roger feels small.

He hates Virginia, and he hates David. And yet he loves him madly, desperately, helplessly, _hopelessly_.

_You get up and leave. You go back to her._

She doesn’t know about David and Roger’s state of affairs.

David has expressed that he wants to end it. He wants to take the next step with his friend Virginia, _Ginger_ , as he calls her. He wants to ask her out, he says there’s something special about her, that he believes he’s found the one. This means Roger’s going to be out of the picture. He’ll lose David to that pretty eyed young woman, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

_I’m left here, with another glass and a thousand questions._

He hears him speak fondly of her, and he knows he’s falling in love with her. David’s _fascinated_ with her.

Roger can’t fathom the idea of never sharing a night with him again. And he told David, but David’s made up his mind. He wants her, not him.

_Was yesterday our last night?_

_Will you marry her?_

_How do I move on?_

Everything was perfect before her. Roger and David were good friends, who rather frequently slept together. Roger didn’t like the term _friends with benefits,_ but it more or less described their relationship. And he wanted it to be so much more than that.

He wants it to be real. He wants to share not only his nights with him, but also his days. He longs for a life alongside him, hearing him laugh, seeing him play guitar by the window. Roger aches to be there for him whenever he needs him, and to know he can rely on him too.

He wants to wake up and find him there. Feel his caresses, be able to call him his _boyfriend_. Knowing that the next day, he’ll be there. And the day after.

He’s tired of drinking. It doesn’t work. A bottle of alcohol will never replace him, it will never comfort him like he does. He always falls in the same destructive cycle: He finds himself alone after a night with him, he tries to distract his mind and ends up thinking too much, and later in the day he hates the fact that he’s done nothing more than miss David for an entire afternoon.

He wants to be David’s everything, just as he’s Roger’s everything.

_I want you and I can’t share you, David._

But David doesn’t. He’s dressed up and left, again. Maybe for the last time. This thought makes Roger swallow hard. The realisation feels like a punch in the gut.

_I don’t want to wake up alone anymore. I need you here._

Roger smiles, but he doesn’t feel happy. In fact, he doesn’t believe he’ll be happy any time soon. His vision becomes hazy, tears start rolling down his cheeks. The empty glass won’t console him.

_I wish you loved me._

He lets the tears dry, doesn’t make an effort to wipe them away. There’s no point in doing that. He writes a final sentence.

_I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> To all the softies out there, softies like me, softies like Rog. 
> 
> So, yeah, I'm uploading this. This is a thing I wrote, again pretty far from my comfort zone, but hey! One needs to innovate, right? And after all this is anonymous and I'm free to write what my heart dictates, so I gave it a shot. Also I know it's pretty short... but I like it. Hope you liked it as well. 
> 
> It's awfully considerate of you to read my things. Thank you so much. Kudos and comments are very welcome. ❤️


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